


Let's Get Away From It All

by ZenHeretic



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love Letters, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6259831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenHeretic/pseuds/ZenHeretic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lone Wanderer is headed to the Mohave Wasteland to spread Project Purity's good name. However, his mission is cut short when he catches sight of the Courier, and he is unable to think of anything but her. He manages to grab her attention. This short memoir is his tale of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Away From It All

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a gift for someone. His favorite game was Fallout 3 and mine was New Vegas so I thought, I wonder what it would be like if they met and fell in love? I really love Fallout, and I love that the missions in New Vegas were named after songs, so that's exactly why the title is what it is.

We were the most unlikely of people, in the most unlikely of places. We met not because fate entwined our destinies, or the moon was aligned with the sun, or any sort of cliché like that, though I’d like to think it was. An expedition west-ward proved dangerous, but doable with my company; my Victory rifle wasn’t one to be trifled with. I wanted to see the rest of these United States, and what they had become since humanity had crawled into the vaults years ago. The books back in Vault 101 proved to be outdated, and a waste of time. And anyway, the “Lone Wanderer” thing stuck to me. While passing through, I had had no problems with the faction that looked as though they were ready to conquer all for the glory of Rome, the Caesar’s Legion, as it were. Though they were strict, I was good at talking, and they allowed me to pass without involving me in a gun fight. Much the same exchange happened upon finding yet another military faction, the New California Republic, who seemed to be more than happy to shoot me on sight. They decided not to upon seeing my vault suit.

I couldn’t imagine how far from home I must have been at that moment, gazing over the sandy landscape the NCR soldiers called the Mojave Wasteland, but much remained the same as home. Desolation was a reoccurring theme, as was raiders and super mutants and what have you. The Mojave Wasteland even had its own radio station, which my trusty Pip Boy picked up, and a smooth voiced host told me all about the vast space I had yet to explore, just like the countless days and nights spent hearing Three Dog’s incorrigible howling. And in the moment when the host did not howl upon introducing the next segment, I felt incredibly homesick. But I know Dad would have wanted me to travel west and seek someplace not so…irradiated. What better reason was there to go west than to sprinkle Project Purity’s name into the conversation?

I must have stopped at hundreds of outposts before I came to stop here. The name is forever ingrained in my mind, because that is where we met; Ranger Station Alpha. It was there I saw _her_ for the first time. She was radiant in the scorching sunlight of the desert. Her eyes were as pure as the untainted waters of the Colorado River. Her reinforced leather armor was in an immaculate state and suddenly my armored jumpsuit seemed so disheveled that I was embarrassed to be seen in such a thing. Hovering next to this conception of sun-touched wasteland beauty was a tiny eyebot who looked nothing like those the Brotherhood of Steel had been using for years. The eyebot responded to her and remained with her, as faithful to her as Dogmeat was to me back home. I was paralyzed where I stood, transfixed even. Then, she looked at me. We were caught in a moment of eternity, but before I could mutter anything, she turned away to attend to business in the medical tent.

Desperate, I grabbed the nearest recruit I could find and pleaded to know the identity of the fellow wanderer who had cast such a spell on me. “Her?” the ranger-in-training asked, bewildered as to why I asked about that specific individual. “I don’t rightly know her name. Everyone has been calling her the Courier. Well, I mean she _was_ a courier. Now she’s been doing good for everybody in the Wasteland.” So this was the Courier that Mojave’s radio host, Mr. New Vegas, had been talking about. The do-gooder of this wasteland. I knew I had to meet her, if only to talk to her briefly.

I waited for her to emerge from the medical tent, and as she began leaving the outpost, I caught up to her. I shouted a greeting to her. She turned and looked at me, but not as though she was ready for conversation. Rather, it seemed she was expecting me to ask her to run an errand or present her with compensation for her deeds. I intended on neither of these options. She didn’t speak when I began talking to her, but talk I did. I introduced myself, and I told her how taken aback I was by what she was doing for this side of the wasteland. The Courier, whom introduced herself as such because, “…that’s how everyone addresses me,” wasn’t altogether interested in me. She prodded me to know what else I had to say, and outright said that she expected me to send her somewhere into uncertain danger. I assured her that was not my intention.

Finally, when I thought she could not stand the last of my questioning, I pleaded to come with her. She pondered for a moment, and I found it cute how her lower lip stuck out as she did so. And at last, she agreed. Elated, I was ready to follow her wherever she lead me. We began our journey and talked about where each other came from, our combat skills, and anything that happened to be on our minds. Minutes, hours, days passed in her company. The Mojave nights were cold, and the afternoons were scorching, but it didn’t seem to bother either of us. The plant life was also magnificently abundant. The Courier forced me to discard some of the samples I had been packing to bring home, as it was slowing me down. The places she showed me were spectacular; in contrast to the grays and greens of the Capitol Wasteland, the Mojave was a rich and vibrant landscape of golds and reds. Culture was vibrant, and I don’t want to begin on the bright iridescent lights of the New Vegas Strip. Everything seemed so care-free in this wasteland.

It was the night she had decided to buy the best armor her caps could buy for me that I decided that I would confess to the Courier that I was in love with her. Our gambling efforts at the Gomorrah had proven fruitful, and with the amount of times the Courier encountered Legionary assassins, gaming the money she took from them didn’t seem so bad. We were in Freeside when I stopped her and told her how much of a joy it’s been to be in her company. She agreed with me.  Nervousness gripped me, and after much stammering I was able to choke out that all this time I had been in love with her ever since I saw her at Ranger Station Alpha, and lastly, I asked her to this time follow me. To follow me back to the Capitol Wasteland and live there, with me.

Her eyes, they were sparkling. Without a word, she reached into her armor and removed a bottle cap, the logo bearing that of the local soda company that did not contain radiation like Nuka Cola. In her hands, she turned it over to show me a weathered blue star, and set the small token into my hands. She proceeded to tell me that these special caps were priceless; people killed each other for these caps. The blue stars were of the most priceless things to have in the Mojave. Then, she curled my fingers around it, smiled, and told me she would follow me for a change. Elated, we prepared to journey to my home, and my wasteland.

I know, Courier, my love, that this wasteland on the other side of the country was not yours. The difficulty you had adjusting to the rainy, dark landscape was not in vain. If I could control the quickly fluctuating population of raiders, or the super mutants that stalk these hills, I would, but only for you. If I could bring Mr. New Vegas back to your Pip Boy to play the songs that you loved and missed so much, I would, but only for you. And if I can defeat the entire Enclave that hated you and caused you to meet your demise, I will. And only for you. The time we spent roaming the Capitol Wasteland was like a dream, and I awoke too soon. Which is why I can’t apologize enough to you. Your Pip Boy, your star cap, and this tear-stained memoir is all I have left of you. So my love, when your soul returns to the Mojave to be at peace among those fiery golden sands, I pray you not forget me. I hope you return to the Mojave to infect some other good soul with the spirit of kindness and carry on your legacy. And know I will always love you, Courier Number 6.

 

Yours, now and forever,

Lone Wanderer from Vault 101


End file.
